The Punisher
by Baronvonblack
Summary: Not a crossover. He was sentenced to rot in Azkaban, yet only his hatred kept him going. Harry Potter died, and in his place something else was born, something more. It wasn't about vengeance...it was about punishment.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own 'The Punisher' franchise, or the name. I don't own anything from Harry Potter. I am in no way profiting from writing this story.

A/N: This is, in no way, connected to The Punisher franchise, comic-books, games, or movies. It only uses the identity, symbol, name and the title – nothing more.

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Throughout history, there have been many 'avengers', vigilantes, rebels and criminals who live above the law to do what they call "the right thing". The law is petty – politics fickle. It changes from age to age. From one country to another, from one man to another, a murder could be reasoned as necessary, tortures could be justified, rebellions deemed morally wrong and the true thing, the right thing, will be debated, stamped on, hidden from view, or closed off forever.

The magical world, in particular the wizarding civilisation, is yet another one of those places where politics change, where light and dark dissolve into grey, and where good and evil become merely flimsy words used in an attempt to reason with the crooked and the greedy. The wizarding civilisation is, to say the least, corrupted. Insurgent groups, such as the Death Eaters, run rampant while the good are powerless to do anything. Another non-sanctified group of vigilantes, who call themselves "The Order of the Phoenix", are committed to stopping him, yet their members are comprised entirely of a ragtag bunch of magical folk from different sects of wizarding society, led by a senile and delusional old man who has a fetish for muggle sweets and is blinded by his own reasoning of justice. What, then, is "justice"? Yet again, it is another flimsy word used to satisfy personal agendas and personify greed and corruption. Gold is the only thing that matters, in this day and age of the magical world – those who wield gold, wield power. Therefore, in the wizarding world, there is no good and no evil, no retributive justice, no rehabilitative justice (as Dementors do prevent any chance of rehabilitation) and no true justice.

In the midst of it all, is one Harry Potter, and what he has accomplished. Although his methods are brutal, can anyone deny their results? Perhaps once it was a personal vendetta, but this would only mean that Mr. Potter was a vigilante, and it would be almost blasphemy to call him a mere vigilante. It would mean associating him with terrorists and rebels.

No, Harry Potter is in a league of his own. For he surpassed the vendetta and the anger, and never once used revenge as a means to justify his actions, as many do. Even if he did, his actions would be forgivable – after all, he is a man who has lost so much but decided to get even. But no. He was never an avenger.

This was not about revenge. It was about punishment.

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The night was truly one of the darkest and quietest nights of the decade, ever since the nights experienced in the peace between the First and Second wizard wars.

Death Eaters employed guerilla-type raids often – their random attacking patterns and wild and unpredictable tactics made them fearsome opponents. Combined with the considerable magical prowess of such Inner Circle Death Eaters like Bellatrix Lestrange or Lucius Malfoy, this served to generate wide-spread fear and provoke emotional responses from the general wizarding public. There was no logic to their attacks, and whenever there was logic, such as an objective or goal, there was rarely ever time for Aurors or the Order of the Phoenix to respond.

But even as thousands of wizards and witches slept peacefully across the country, there was a distinctive tension in the air. It was thick, like charged energy, as if something was going to happen, something gigantic, something immense. Something that would change the whole course of the war.

The quietness of the night was suddenly broken by the quick scurrying of shoes moving rapidly across the ground. The trails in the dirt were clear although there was no one there, suggesting a disillusionment charm or invisibility cloak.

In a location a fair distance to where this was taking place, just off the coast on a small island that was invisible to prying eyes, a man was woken up by the shrill sound of beeping.

He quickly got up, walking across the bare wooden ground to check his computer, where a window had suddenly popped up with a red warning icon on it.

His grim, dark emerald eyes became grimmer as he narrowed them. The man closed the window and straightened up before doing a few quick press-ups and sit-ups.

He was only dressed in trunks. Although his body was intensely muscular, it showed numerous scars and fading bruises. The man hardly looked at them these days – they were old history, after all.

Walking across to the cabinet, the man punched in a four-digit code on the keypad before it beeped affirmatively and opened with a mechanical click. He pulled out a set of black combat fatigues and put them on, before pulling out padded torso armour and pushed it over his head, adjusting it slightly as the man grabbed his boots and socks and sat down on the bed to put them on.

His thick torso armour was also black, but unlike his fatigues, there was a prominently displayed white skull emblazoned across the front. It had taken him quite a while to figure out an appropriate symbol, but the man felt it fitting that a bringer of Death would be most well-remembered with the most commonly associated image with Death – the skull. It would certainly make an impact, and he doubted that it would be forgotten any time, either. The Dark Mark was frankly pathetic – it paled in comparison to this, and the man would make sure of that.

He finished putting on his boots, and pulled out several necessary items from the steel closets and cabinets across from him, strapping them to his clothing in several places. He made a brief trip to the armory to grab several weapons, strapped several bandoliers of bullets and knives around him before walking across to the desk to pick up the miniature model of a skull. He whispered the password before feeling a tug on his navel and disappearing as the skull flashed blue.

He reappeared in a field in the middle of a suburban area, a place where he guessed muggles resided. He cocked his M16A3 and began to walk as he cast a disillusionment charm on himself.

Exactly two hundred metres ahead, underneath an Invisibility Cloak, Lucius Malfoy was baffled. The Dark Lord had sent him to retrieve a muggle-born witch – alive and unharmed.

Although he was at first confused, he made the foolish mistake of questioning the Dark Lord's orders, and his muscles were still aching from the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse. The Dark Lord was sure to have a reason for this, as such orders were completely against his doctrines.

Just like they had done in the last few raids, since Lucius was the leading Death Eater he was the one to fire the first spell.

Standing in front of the large suburban house, Lucius knew this would be quick and easy, as the house was much more isolated and further away from the rest of the suburb. _"Confringo!" _he yelled, flinging off his invisibility cloak and aiming his wand as he fired the spell.

The blasting spell tore through the wall of the house, punching a large hole into its structure as the wood splintered and shattered.

In a smooth, simultaneous motion, each of the Death Eaters pulled off their invisibility cloaks and charged in, firing hexes and curses to add to the total chaos as they poured into the large hole.

Inside, Lucius looked at the muggle family in disgust. The pitiful muggle father stood protectively in front of his daughter and wife in one corner of the room, shielding them with his arms.

As the Death Eaters filed into the living room, the father looked at them shakily before gulping – after all, who wouldn't be scared if men with silver masks, tall pointed hats and black robes blew a hole in your house? "W-Who are you all?"  
Lucius managed a sneer behind his mask. "Take the girl and keep her down here – the Dark Lord specified that she is NOT to be harmed in any way."

There was a series of groans and sighs in the group of Death Eaters behind him. Lucius knew how they felt – this wasn't the first time the Dark Lord had specified for them not to harm a captive, although it was usually for a reason. However…this mudblood filth… "Stun the mother and father," Lucius drawled, "so that we can have our fun upstairs."

As the Death Eaters began to move forward excitedly, Lucius then pointed to two random ones. "You two – stay down here and guard the girl!"

"But sir," one of them stammered disappointedly, "Would it not be easier just to stun her?"

Lucius also thought that this was much more useful. However, the Dark Lord had specified for her to be _completely _unharmed, and the unvoiced threat was clear. "No."

"But sir…"

"Are you questioning the direct orders of the Dark Lord?" Lucius asked coldly.

The Death Eater shrunk back. "N-No…"

"Then you will do as you are told," Lucius said before casually stunning the two parents, levitating them into the air as he walked up the stairs with a smirk on his face, similarly mirrored by the other Death Eaters. It was time for them to have their fun…

"This is preposterous!" the Death Eater proclaimed as he began to play with his wand. Both of them stayed standing, their heads turned towards the direction of the muggle-born witch, who now lay there with her face in her hands, trying to stay strong and control her choking sobs. "Why do we have to watch the filthy mudblood without getting a chance to play with her?"

"You heard Lucius," the second Death Eater warned. "The Dark Lord said that she was to be _completely _unharmed."

"But why?"

"Don't question the Dark Lord's orders! I heard the last one who did ended up spending a night with Bellatrix Lestrange!"

Both Death Eaters shivered at the thought of the insane witch. It was rumoured her ability at torture was on par with that of the Dark Lord's, and in some areas, excelled.

"But still…" the Death Eater looked at the witch like a fat person would look at a tender piece of roast steak. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind…it's not like we're going to do anything…permanent, after all."

"And what do you suggest?"

"Well, it has been a while since I saw my fiancé, and I'm sure she wouldn't mind…"  
"But…" the Death Eater was suddenly silenced as horrific screams started to emanate from the ceiling. "Are you sure Lucius would agree?"

"What Lucius knows won't hurt…URK!" The Death Eater gave a splutter as a Ka-Bar fighting knife ripped across his throat. He stumbled backwards in shock as the long gash let out a long river of thick blood before falling to the floor, blood seeping into the carpets.

Before the second Death Eater could do anything, the black-clad man appeared, and raised a silenced Colt M1911A2, squeezing the trigger. The hollow-point bullet went straight through his head and shattered the back of his skull as he slammed down, brain tissue and blood oozing out onto the floor.

The man turned to regard the sobbing witch as his expression softened. Bending down so that he was at her height, he said softly, "I'm sorry you had to see that. While you be alright down here by yourself?"

The girl had wanted to scream as the man killed both of them, but had been too much in shock from the shrill screams of her mother and father. Now, she tried to force down the bulge in her throat as she managed out, "Y-Yes."

"Where's your wand?" the man asked, again in his soft tone of voice.

"On the dinner table," the witch replied shakily.

"Grab it, and wait for me down here. I'll go save your mum and dad." The man stood up, pulling his M16A3 off his back and cocking it. He grabbed his M203 grenade launcher and slid a flashbang canister into it, and snapped it onto the rifle with a mechanical click. Once he had checked the chamber and cocked it, he closed his eyes briefly and steadied his breathing, just like he had been taught before hoisting the rifle up into position as he adopted a cautious rifle stance, creeping up the stairs with his finger on the trigger.

The screams coming from the second floor were almost deafening. The man supposed that they were opening with Cruciatus curses as a warm-up before beginning, although he himself never bothered to "warm-up" with a torture, although his torture was more aimed at extracting useful information, not deriving some sort of sadistic pleasure. That was usually reserved for the weak-willed Death Eater looking for some way to gain dominance after being tortured by Riddle – real men didn't need torture to somehow assert themselves.

The screams were coming from the door directly to his right. The man pulled out a thin fibre-optic cable, threading it through the keyhole as he connected it to his PDA.

As the image showed up on the screen in a new window, the man adjusted it, memorising the positions of all the Death Eaters. This was a fairly small group, suggesting that Riddle desired this to stay quiet – however, Death Eaters never really liked to do things quietly.

The man quickly assessed his options before deciding that a direct and fast approach was best. He didn't want to endanger the lives of the parents, after all.

Quickly, the man brought his foot up and slammed down the door with one mighty kick, and followed it up in one smooth motion as he fired the flashbang from his M203.

The canister ejected and made contact with the ground as the man stepped behind the cover of the doorframe and held his ears tightly.

A deafening bang thundered through the room, followed by several blinding flashes of light. The man whirled around and stormed into the room, finger locked onto the trigger as he fired in quick bursts, taking down most of the Death Eaters inside.

One of them managed to quickly regain his bearings and aimed his wand – however the man was faster. He centred the sights and fired a short burst.

Even if the wizard had managed to start an incantation, five 5.56x45 mm rounds that could break the speed of sound would have quickly silenced him. The bullets tore through his head, turning it into a bloody mass of flesh as he fell, his wand clattering uselessly to the ground.

Another Death Eater managed to ignore the screeching sound in his ears and raised his wand. _"Avada…_AGH!"

The man spun around, slamming his butt into the man's face before firing, point-blank into his chest.

He spun around and finished the final Death Eater as he dropped his now-empty M16A3 rifle, flicking his hand and slashing the man in the stomach with another Ka-Bar fighting knife, twisting it before withdrawing.

The dark wizard gasped, looking at his stomach in revulsion and shock as blood and guts slowly spilt out. He dropped his wand, crumpling onto the floor as he tried to hold in the flow of blood.

The man withdrew a sawed-off Remington 870 shotgun, pointing it in Lucius's face as the blonde-haired pureblood was in the middle of raising his wand. "Try it," he said coldly.

Slowly and reluctantly, Lucius dropped his wand, raising his hands in defeat.

"So, Lucius Malfoy – give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you," the man said.

Lucius pulled off his mask in shock. "How could you possibly have recognised me?" he gasped.

"_I recognised your foul stench when I was brought on board," _the man said, then gave off a harsh bark-like laugh.

Lucius stared at this madman with fear and terror in his eyes, despite trying to manage a cool composure. "Who are you? Who are you working for?"

"_Si vis pacem, para bellum," _the man quoted. "If you want peace, prepare for war. I want peace – and you are standing in the way of peace."  
Lucius's eyes widened. "What do you want? Power? Money? I can give it to you! Tell me, and I'll give it to you!"

"What I want…" the man said darkly as he leaned into Lucius's face. "What I want…is your master's head. On a pike."

"How dare you! The Dark Lord will…" Lucius choked on his words as the man wrapped his gloved fingers around his throat and slammed him into the wall.

"Let me get this straight," the man snarled. "You are in no position to make any snide remarks. I hold all the cards now, and if I were you, I'd shut the hell up right now."

Lucius nodded frantically as he began to slowly turn blue.

The man carelessly tossed the Death Eater aside like he was a ragdoll before turning to the parents, making sure to snap Lucius's wand as he walked across.

Their torture had caused them to go into unconsciousness. The man couldn't see any physical wounds, and they hadn't been under Cruciatus long enough for insanity, so he saw no reason to stay.

He picked a wand up off the floor and poked it out the window. _"Mosmordre!" _

As the Dark Mark appeared, he then did some complicated wand movements and added his own special touch, triggered when someone stepped into a certain radius.

He turned around and walked back down the stairs, retrieving his M16 rifle and slinging it onto his back, sticking his sawed-off shotgun into his heavy trench coat.

The girl at the bottom of the stairs shrieked as she spun around, her wand pointed frantically at the man before she realised it was him and lowered it, her eyes still bloodshot from crying. "Are my mum and dad okay?" she asked in a whispery tone.

"They're unconscious, but fine," the man replied assuredly. "Now before anyone gets here, I want to ask you something: Why were the Death Eaters after you? Why did they want to capture you unharmed?"  
"Professor Dumbledore said that I was the one to defeat You-Know-Who," she said shakily. "He said that I had a power that he didn't know about that meant I could defeat him."

The man narrowed his eyes. "What year are you, anyway? When's your birthday?"

"I-I just finished my first year…um…thirty-first of July. Why do you want to know?" the girl asked, adjusting her slightly-too-big glasses.

"And what about your parents?" the man questioned. "What do they do?"

"They're not magical… but Professor Dumbledore said…" she gave a yelp as several pops sounded from outside.

The man looked apologetic. "Sorry, but I have to get going now." He spun around, jogging up the stairs to grab Lucius's body before pulling the miniature skull out of his pocket. He uttered another password as the skull glowed blue and he vanished to a different location.

"Wait!" the fragile witch cried as she ran up the stairs, only to see an empty hallway. "I never got to say thank you…" realising that her parents were in the bedroom to the right, she quickly ran in to see how they were.

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The man reappeared in an underground chamber that stretched out in an intricate series of tunnels and hallways.

He had explored every inch of the labyrinth, and had completely closed off all entrances – bar a few, although it was highly unlikely that anyone would discover those. Almost impossible, perhaps, given the amount of precautions that he had taken.

Aside from using the labyrinth to store supplies, which were charmed to stay fresh, and weaponry, the ancient labyrinth housed a very useful torture chamber…

He had refined it and honed it to cater for his tastes, and now it carried everything that he needed to extract useful information.

The man strapped Lucius to the steel table, chains charmed to be unbreakable as he grabbed a bucket and filled it up with cold water from the tap, bringing it above Lucius's head and tipping it. "Rise and shine, Malfoy!"

The pureblood spluttered and coughed as he opened his eyes. "You!" he hissed venomously. "Just you wait! The Dark Lord will…"

"…Never come for you," the man finished as he walked across and picked up certain…instruments from a cabinet. "You see, _Death Eater_…" he growled the title like it was a curse, "your precious Voldemort is nothing. He is weak, pathetic, and a mere schoolyard bully. He hides behind his followers and lets them do the dirty work." He took off his trench coat and gloves, and put on a white coat and plastic surgical gloves.

"Who are you?" Lucius snarled. "To dare sully the name of the Dark Lord?"

The man gave a dark smirk, raising up his hair to reveal a recognisable lightning-bolt scar on his head.

Lucius's eyes widened. "Potter! But you're…"

"Dead." The man stated coldly, picking up a bunch of stainless steel instruments and putting them on a table beside Lucius's body. "Harry Potter died in Azkaban, just as you all believe. I am the man the remains." He looked at Lucius, a dark and sinister glint in his dull green eyes. "I am the Punisher."

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"…We're completely baffled, Albus," Remus said as the two of them walked to the front lawn of the house. "We came here, and when we went in, all the Death Eaters were dead. Miss Smith talked about a man who came here and killed them all, then disappeared."

Albus Dumbledore was a man who prided himself on his knowledge.

He didn't like to be kept in the dark. He liked to be the one in control, the one who could predict his opponent's moves, the invisible chess-master. Tom Riddle was, at first, predictable, up to the Department of Mysteries. But then…

The elder wizard shook his head. It would do no good to remember the past. "Is Miss Smith unharmed?" he asked softly as they looked at the torn bodies which had been pulled out of the house and were being dumped together into a large pit.

Remus nodded grimly. "A bit shaken, that's all. Her parents are being treated now, but it's nothing major – they were under the Cruciatus curse, so a few nights at St. Mungo's and they'll be back to full health."

Albus smiled at this briefly, before it disappeared. He was attempting to set her up as the Child of the Prophecy, but it was proving more difficult than he imagined. "And Miss Smith?"

"Being kept at the headquarters," Remus replied.

Indeed, it was much more difficult than he imagined. Especially her parents, being muggles, but it seemed that they had inadvertently defied him three times beforehand.

It seemed that the father, Tom Smith used to be a policeman and had on three occasions, defied Voldemort by rescuing three important Ministry officials separately, however amazing it seemed. The coincidence was immense and impossible to ignore – especially as the mother was a nurse and had tended to their wounds. So it seemed that Miss Cindy Smith was the Child of the Prophecy, and not the recently deceased Harry Potter, nor Neville Longbottom.

All she needed now was the mark…which Albus was sure Voldemort would do unintentionally, if she was captured, like he had planned for her to be. Whatever she underwent would be small sacrifices for the greater good, he was sure.

But this man…Albus looked up at the massive white skull looming over the Dark Mark. It hovered over it threateningly, like it was planning to devour it. This man, whoever he was, was jeopardising Voldemort's downfall. The last he needed was a vigilante, a wild card, and Albus needed to seek him out and neutralise him quickly.

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"…Torture is a fine art," the Punisher said fondly as he began to wash his syringes and chakra tools. "The art form is not to actually cause as much pain as possible in the most unique ways, but to do so, _while keeping the person alive_."

Lucius gulped. "What is it you want, Potter?"

"I am THE PUNISHER!" the warrior roared, slamming his fist on the table.

"Punisher," Lucius corrected quickly. "What is it you want? Revenge? I can…"

"Revenge is not a valid motive," the Punisher replied coldly as he looked at Lucius's body, attempting to decide where to begin. His gaze was reminisce of a butcher looking at a chunk of meat. "It is an emotional response. This is not vengeance. This is punishment."

The Punisher picked up several twisted looking knives. "I'm particularly fond of knives. They have a wide range of uses, and I believe that we'll start with one…" he picked a thin knife up with a curved blade. "This is the starter course. We'll start to know each other better, although you'll be very hesitant." The Punisher walked across and picked up a chainsaw, starting it up as the whirring noise echoed through the chamber. "The main course. You'll slowly start to tell me little things, which you don't tell anyone else. There'll be other things, of course…" The Punisher's gaze fell onto the chakra tools before it returned to Lucius's frightened face. "And then, the finisher…" the Punisher turned off the chainsaw and put it to one side as he picked up a blowtorch.

"Dear Merlin…" Lucius breathed.

"I'll become your best friend. You'll tell me all your secrets, secrets you wouldn't tell anyone else." That sinister glint appeared again in his emerald eyes. "Two thousand degrees, Lucius. Enough to turn steel into butter." He gave off a harsh, barking laugh. "It won't hurt at first. It's too hot, you see? The flame sears the nerve endings shut, killing them. You'll go into shock, and all you'll feel is cold. Isn't muggle science fun?"

"You're sick, Potter!"  
"I SAID I AM THE PUNISHER!" the Punisher boomed, his voice thundering through the labyrinth like a storm. "I could always just use Veritaserum, but what's the fun in that? You see, Lucius, it's finally here, justice is finally here. For all your crimes, you are going to be punished…"


	2. Chapter 2

_The helicopter kicked up a blinding cloud of sand as it lowered altitude and began to hover slightly above the dunes of sand._

"_Okay, men, lock and load!" Lieutenant Green shouted above the noise of the thundering helicopter blades as the squad cocked their rifles and began to leap out._

_Many of the men were seasoned soldiers – grizzled war veterans with multitudes of scars, not all of them physical. Their faces were hard and stony, their eyes fierce and unyielding, rifles held tightly in their hands as they quickly landed and spread out, each soldier covering a different angle of fire._

_Amongst these veterans, it was then odd to see such a fresh-faced young soldier. He was perhaps sixteen or seventeen, and although his stormy dark green eyes and cold expression spoke of a maturity well past his age, he still retained some of his youthfulness. _

_The boy adjusted his Kevlar helmet slightly and squinted – the sun's ferocious glare was making vision difficult for all of the soldiers._

"_Cover me," the Lieutenant snapped as they began to move off to their objective. "And spread out!" he barked._

_Lieutenant Green was a harsh leader, but extremely fair. He expected nothing but the best from them all, and the boy appreciated that. Quick decisiveness, like what the Lieutenant displayed, was what everyone needed, and the boy knew he could learn a lot from him._

_The unit approached the airbase with total wariness and caution in their posture in steps, their M16 rifles up and at the ready. What they saw disgusted them._

_Torn bodies lay strewn everywhere. Puddles of dry blood decorated the yellow sand, and several organs which had been ripped out were also lying around._

_The boy felt that urge to vomit rise up again as his stomach churned, but he forced it down. Perhaps two years ago, he might have vomited at this horrible sight, but training and mental discipline meant that he had complete control over all his actions. Never again would he let rage, or foolhardiness or bravery dominate his actions. Rage and bravery would be used to drive his actions, but they would never master him. Nor would hate._

_The boy hated, so strongly. He felt the hate seeping into his very blood, and he wondered sometimes if he would die from all the hate pumping into his veins._

_He turned over one of the bodies to be greeted with a youthful face, a face that would normally be taken to be similar to his own in youthfulness, were it not for the boy's witnessing of many of the great horrors of the world. _

_The boy scanned the corpse's dress briefly before his lips twisted in disgust. "He wasn't even a soldier, he was an unarmed engineer. Why the needless slaughter?" His British accent had faded away considerably. Instead of an accent, his voice conveyed a great myriad of emotions, yet somehow managed to retain a cold and mechanical tone to it. It was a voice which was hot and cold, angry and calm, mad and sane yet also teetered on the brink of manhood and boyhood. Although he had greatly matured, he was not yet completely an adult, not yet completely aware of his purpose in life. He was at…a crossroad._

_Perkins walked up beside him as he looked down at the body. He was the hardest and toughest of the squad, and had been in the Marines longer than the rest of them. He had been in many campaigns and had seen the most action, and in transit between assignments, he'd usually entertainment the rest of the squad with war stories, some funny, some outright horrific and some which could only be appreciated through the eyes of a soldier._

_The grizzled soldier looked down briefly at the body the boy was staring at before turning around to look at the horizon. "It ain't easy living, kid," Perkins said gruffly. "Sometimes you're gonna find things which seem sick to you, but seem good to others. But know this – one day, we are all gonna pay for our crimes on this Earth."_

_The boy straightened, and unconsciously rubbed his forehead as he lowered his rifle. Hate added to more hate as the poisonous feeling flowed through his veins, yet the hate was not directed at himself, or to those who did not deserve it. "Punishment," he said simply._

_Hate was powerful, when directed correctly. Hate could drive the most heinous of acts, yet it could also drive the greatest of them. It could destroy a man, or make him a legend._

-------

To say Lord Voldemort was angry was the understatement of the century.

Moments ago, the Dark Lord had been sitting on his throne in Riddle Manor, enjoying a glass of the Wizarding world's finest wine. But now…

"Avery," Voldemort stated, extremely slowly. "Do you think me a fool?"

"N-No my lord!" The Death Eater blurted out as he bowed lower to the ground. "I am merely…"

"Then you must understand, Avery," Voldemort said silkily as he drew his wand in an almost leisurely fashion, "That to tell me an entire group of Death Eaters, led by Lucius Malfoy, a member of the Inner Circle on a simple mission, vanished from the face of the Earth…" he pointed his wand at the now-shaking Death Eater. "Is an insult to my intelligence."

Avery waited, his eyes shut tightly for the torture to come, yet it did not. He opened one eye shakily and looked up. Seeing that the Dark Lord wanted an answer, he stuttered, "Y-Yes my lord, it is an insult!"  
"So let me ask you again…" Voldemort lowered his wand and began to look at it fondly – Avery gave a deep sigh of relief. "Why have Lucius and his entourage of Death Eaters not returned from their mission?"

"W-We're not sure, my lord…" Avery stammered, then immediately began to regret saying it.

"_Crucio!" _Voldemort snarled, snapping his wand forward at the Death Eater.

Avery gave off several screams of pain as he writhed about on the ground. His whole body was in pure agony, the excruciating pain ripping through it like hundreds of hot knives searing through flesh.

Voldemort held it a little while longer before releasing the curse. "FIND OUT!" he roared.

Avery scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain of the after-effects of the curse. He jumbled out there as quickly as he good, tripping over himself several times in the process.

Voldemort sat back down in his throne, picking up the glass of wine and looked absentmindedly into the dark red liquid, swirling it around. Good help was truly hard to find these days. And the mission that Lucius was on couldn't possibly take this long, meaning that it was likely he was wounded, killed or captured. But how? He had prepared for it, scrutinised every detail, made sure everything worked out perfectly. The girl was completely vulnerable, had no magical defenses and a first year's education. Even if Aurors had done it as a trap, the Death Eaters he had sent weren't rookies; they were experienced and could have easily dealt with them in time to Apparate past any wards not accounted for.

Voldemort was confused, and he didn't like it one bit. This whole setup was suspicious from the very start. It could have been mere coincidence that this girl was born on July the thirty-first, but his parents had inadvertently defied him three times, even though they were filthy muggles. This was too remarkable for him to ignore, and he began to ponder whether this girl was the Child of the Prophecy.

Potter was dead, and Longbottom had long-since disappeared for places unknown. This left only the muggleborn witch. Dumbledore had left her completely vulnerable, which was too suspicious. Perhaps it was a trap, after all.

Although the contents of the entire Prophecy were not yet known to him, Lord Voldemort was certain that Dumbledore wouldn't leave her completely vulnerable in such a way – even Potter had his blood wards. It was too foolhardy a move, considering that the Dark Lord only wished her completely unharmed so that he could personally see to her torture and eventual death.

-------

After the Punisher had finished Lucius's torture, he had dragged him out at dawn under the cover of a disillusionment charm and made sure that his…last moments, were prominent.

Lucius was barely recognisable now. His face had been disfigured beyond recognition, instead a huge mass of swollen bruises, slashes and dried blood. His smooth blonde hair had been ripped off, and only a few strands still remained on his head. Whatever limbs were left had been broken or dislocated – the Punisher had healed the stumps of the limbs he lost to make sure that he didn't die of blood loss.

The Punisher draped a black cloth around his torn robes with his distinctive white skull displayed on it. He considered leaving a message for Riddle, but decided against it – the skull, and Lucius's own mutterings would be enough.

Lucius was currently unconscious right now, but boy, would they be in for a surprise when he woke up.

The Punisher finished tying him up to the lamp post and dropped down gracefully, pulling a necklace with the Malfoy family crest on it out of his pocket. It seemed that the Malfoy head had on him a Portkey that took him straight into Malfoy Manor, right past the wards. It had only taken a little bit of persuasion for the Punisher to pry the password out of him, and he gripped the necklace tightly as he whispered it and felt a tug on his navel.

He reappeared in an exquisite hall – the ground was sleek and smooth, probably made from marble with the Malfoy family crest on it. There was a grand stairway leading up to several hallways, and on each side of him were large, furbished oak doors.

As if on cue, the door to his left opened, and in walked a tall, imposing lady dressed in long, flowing black robes.

The Punisher recognised her immediately as he pulled a modified Colt 1911 out of his trench coat. "Narcissa Malfoy," he greeted.

Before Narcissa could even think of reaching for her wand, the Punisher had already pulled back the hammer. "Don't even think about it. Put down the wand and kick it to me, and I might not kill you."  
Narcissa tried to look dignified as she stared into the green eyes of this intruder. Being a pureblood of high education, she could read people easily, but aside from the hard resolve and resolution in his eyes, his body language showed the discipline and strength of a warrior, muscles coiled, stance ready and alert for anything. She quickly concluded that he could very easily kill her, and withdrew her wand out of the folds of her robes and dropped it to the ground, kicking it across to him.

The Punisher scooped it up off the ground, his eyes never leaving hers as he kept the weapon in his hand steadily pointed at the witch.

As the warrior pocketed her wand, he asked, "Is there anyone else here?"  
"No," Narcissa replied coolly.

The Punisher studied her expressions mechanically before pulling a bulky black silencer out of his trench coat and affixing it to the pistol's barrel. He then raised the weapon, aimed and fired.

There was a quiet puff as the bullet tore through Narcissa's leg – the witch gasped in shock as she stumbled and fell.

With inhumane speed, the Punisher sprinted across and positioned himself over her. He flicked his hand as a small curved knife came out, lowering it to her throat until the tip touched her pale skin. "Lying isn't good for your health," he stated dryly. "Now, who else is in the Manor? You'd better pick your answer…" he slowly began to draw the knife across her throat, although he wasn't putting on enough pressure to piece the skin, "very carefully…"

Narcissa shook fearfully as she realised her predicament. "The house elves, and…" she gulped, "my son, Draco."

"Now that wasn't so hard now, was it?" the Punisher grinned darkly as he yelled, "DRACO! COME HERE, YOU FILTHY GROVELING DEATH EATER!"

"No!" Narcissa screamed, grabbing at him as the soldier removed his knife. "Not…"

"Stand up and try to look dignified!" the Punisher growled as he pushed her off him.

It was at that point that Draco stormed in, his wand at the ready – after all, hearing an unfamiliar voice insult him was bound to set off warning bells, especially as whoever did it manage to bypass the Manor's ancient wards. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you doing in my father's house?"

The Punisher turned his cold gaze on him, and Draco couldn't help but shiver. Ever since his graduation at Hogwarts, his father had pushed for him not yet to become a Death Eater, but instead to be taken under his wing to learn about the responsibilities and actions of being the head of the Malfoys - should anything ever happen to Lucius, Draco could then take over.

Of course, this was another way of saying that Draco had become a pansy. He spent most of his time at the Manor or attending "fine dinner parties".

The Punisher only needed to take one look at his posture before he smirked in dark amusement. "So what are you going to do now, Malfoy?" he taunted. "Kill me?"

"What are you doing here?" Draco repeated, a little shakily when he realised that his mother was unarmed and wounded, blood seeping into her silky black robes.

The warrior seemed completely unconcerned that the pureblood had his wand aimed at him. "Draco, Draco, Draco," he taunted. "What're you waiting for? I mean, it's not like you're going to throw me into Azkaban without a trial, is it?"

The pale pureblood's eyes widened. "Potter!" he hissed in shock.

"Harry Potter is dead. Only the Punisher remains," the Punisher stated flatly. He raised his pistol. "Now drop your wand."

"_CRUCIO!" _Draco screamed.

The Punisher merely leaned to one side as the curse flew past him. "Pathetic, Draco. I saw that coming from the time you came in here." Without moving from his position, he flicked his hand as a stiletto came out of his sleeve, slicing through the air at a frightening speed. Draco had no time to react as the knife stabbed into his wand hand, causing him to drop it as he fell to the ground, clutching his wound.

Ignoring the screaming behind him, the Punisher raised his pistol to the blonde's head. "Did you really think you would get away with all that you did, Malfoy? You were wrong. Half-bloods and muggleborns aren't the scum of the Earth. You are." He pulled the trigger, and all that Draco Malfoy saw in his last moments was a flash…then darkness.

The Punisher lowered his smoking gun, a look of satisfaction passing through his eyes briefly before fading. He didn't enjoy doing what he did but understood its necessity, and to enjoy it would mean becoming the same to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Whatever remained of Harry Potter enjoyed killing him – there was no doubt of that. He would need to be more wary of these feelings in the future.

"You…you monster!" Narcissa hissed. "How could you?! Lucius had convinced the Dark Lord to postpone entering his ranks, he was not…"

"Evil isn't measured in putting black marks on your arm," the Punisher stated coldly. He raised the weapon once more.

"NO!" Narcissa raised her hands in front of her in a gesture of surrender. "I was never involved with the Death Eaters! My marriage was arranged! I was…"

The Punisher paused briefly, scanning her face as she gibbered on in an attempt to justify herself. He could tell when a person was lying or not. It was a skill he began to hone through extensive life-and-death situations such as this, and honed further when he was stuck in administrative duties, such as making sure a new supply of weaponry was up to specifications and on time, or rooting out moles in CTU. He was almost always correct, and could see through even the falsest of facades.

There was no doubt in his mind. The Punisher didn't lower his weapon. He ignored her screams and silenced her permanently.

-------

"_Stu-Stupefy!" _Cindy stuttered, firing a sickly looking red stream of light at Moody. Despite his wooden leg, the grizzled ex-Auror dodged it with ease, looking down at the small witch with disappointment.

"You have to mean it, Smith!" Moody growled. "In battle, a Death Eater isn't going to wait for you to cast it otherwise you'd be dead. Focus!"

"I-I'm trying!" Cindy cried in exasperation. "I'm doing everything you're asking me, aren't I?"

Moody sighed inwardly. The witch wasn't very talented at practical spell-casting. Although she understood the theory perfectly well, she was far from the best dueler, that plus her youth meant that pushing her too hard would result in severe magical exhaustion. This had happened twice before, although Dumbledore would keep insisting on intensive training, believing that she would learn from her mistakes.

It was not her fault, really. She simply wasn't strong enough.

As Cindy began to try another spell, it was at that point that Dumbledore burst out of the fireplace, green flames flashing for a brief moment before disappearing behind his long purple and red robes.

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," the witch said shyly as she lowered her wand.

"Greetings, Miss Smith," the Headmaster's twinkling blue eyes focused on her. "And how goes your dueling lessons?"

Before Cindy could say anything, Moody interrupted. "I'll tell the Headmaster about your progress. In the meantime, practise your spell-work." He moved in closer to the older wizard, and muttered, "Albus, can we talk in the next room?"

As they got into the other room and Moody had closed the door and put up a silencing charm, it was then the dark wizard catcher began to fume. "Albus, are you barking mad? You're pushing her to the brink of exhaustion! She can hardly stand still or talk with stuttering or shaking! If we push her even further…"

"You know the consequences as well as I do, Alastor," Albus said with a sigh. While it was true that it had its risk, the Headmaster was confident that, being the Child of the Prophecy, it would prevent Cindy from any serious harm. Once Tom marked her as his equal, the road would then become much smoother. "But you also know the dire consequences of under-preparation. I am convinced that Miss Smith is the Child of the Prophecy, and as such _must_ be adequately prepared. We simply do not have the time or manpower to sustain a sufficient defense until Miss Smith comes of age, so unfortunately this must be done."

"And what about this 'Punisher' that Malfoy keeps babbling on about?" Moody barked. "The same one who killed all those Death Eaters in the raid on Smith's house?"

Dumbledore frowned. "You know as well as I do, Alastor that such violent methods as those demonstrated on Lucius's body and mind, however much in our favour, are horrible and demeaning. No one should be made to suffer like Mr. Malfoy."

"You say that like you're sympathising for him," Moody muttered under his breath. Then clearing his voice, he said sharply, "Back to the subject. I think that Miss Smith has undergone a traumatic experience and needs time to recuperate…"

"Time we DO NOT have, Alastor," Dumbledore replied just as sharply. "We must prepare her for the journey ahead. It may seem harsh, but it will be for the greater good, and we will be doing Miss Smith a favour. You know as well as I that the real world is unforgiving and one must be prepared for all it can throw at you." With that finality, Dumbledore walked into the next room. "I apologise, Miss Smith, but I must be taking my leave," he said with a sigh.

"Professor, I'm trying really hard, but…" Cindy looked down at her feet in shame. "I can't get a lot of the spells, and even if I can, they're not very good…and I'm really tired…please, can I go home?"  
Dumbledore schooled his face into his most kind, grandfatherly expression. "I truly am sorry, my dear, but I cannot allow you to go home because you will be in danger there. You must train very hard here, and when I deem you ready, then you may leave. However, I feel that a short break is required, as I'm sure you've worked very hard."

"Okay, Professor…" Cindy said shakily, walking off to her room.

"Where're you going, Albus?" Moody asked as he stepped back in, his wooden leg making heavy clumping noises on the floor.

Dumbledore wrinkled his nose. "Cornelius is holding a Gala at the Ministry to raise gold for the war efforts. All of the prominent pureblood families who are supposedly not Death Eaters…" At this, Moody snorted, "Will be appearing there."

"So soon, after discovering Lucius Malfoy dangling off a street light, repeatedly saying 'Punisher'?" Moody asked with a frown.

"That, unfortunately, is one of the reasons why the Gala is being held so soon," Dumbledore responded. "Lucius was discovered two days ago, which gave the Ministry enough time to prepare the Gala in haste and cover up the facts."

"I read about it," Moody said with a frown. "So at this moment, the Ministry is claiming that the body is not in fact Lucius Malfoy but a Death Eater being punished for insubordination. Do they really expect people to believe it?"

"Sadly, yes," Dumbledore sighed. "As you'd expect, Lucius was a large source of gold for the Ministry and promised many frequent donations to a variety of schemes. The Ministry must raise enough funds for these plans to go ahead…"

"Whatever gold raised should go towards the war effort!" Moody shouted.

"Unfortunately, many pureblood families are there to _divert_ the funds to anywhere but the war. I have my suspicions that Voldemort has the support of almost all the pureblood families. Others are also being bribed to do his dirty work," Dumbledore replied sadly. "But I will not detain Miss Smith's training any longer, I must report to the Ministry to greet the invited."

-------

The news of the death of the entire Malfoy family would certainly shake up the wizarding world. It would make it much easier for the war, as the Malfoys were a powerful source of gold for both the corrupt Ministry and Voldemort.

_He had them against the ropes._

The Punisher pulled out an M60 from the gun rack, and quickly checked the chamber. He grabbed a long belt of ammunition and several bandoliers of bullets, and threw both the weapon and the ammo to one side.

_When you have an opponent against the ropes, do you let up?_

He grabbed a Colt M1911A2 pistol and slid the magazine in, hearing a satisfying mechanical click before cocking it. He did the same thing for a matching one before also throwing them to the side.

_You rip into them with everything you've got. You beat them senseless. You knee them in the stomach. You smash them in the face. You hit them until your knuckles are raw, until they began to bleed, until they slump to the ground, defeated._

The Punisher pulled on his torso armour, slinging several bandoliers of ammunition over his head. He strapped several throwing knives to his thigh, and slid his long combat knife into its sheath on his belt. Finally, he grabbed a pack of explosives and put on his heavy black trench coat, slipping more weapons into their holsters and pockets inside the coat.

_And if that's not enough…_

The Punisher slung the M60 over his head, pushing a long belt of ammunition into it with a click. He walked out of his shack, and prepared to Portkey to the Ministry.

_You bleed them to death._

-------


End file.
